


Into the Maelgwynverse

by Lillimint



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22381783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillimint/pseuds/Lillimint
Summary: What if Maelgwyn could find help from his future self? What if the hardest moment of his life could be changed by those who lived it? A Secret Samol request for advice from his other selves, and the solution they might find.
Relationships: Charter Castille/Maelgwyn
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3
Collections: Secret Samol 2019





	Into the Maelgwynverse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CombatMattress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CombatMattress/gifts).



Castille knew she could find him at night, protecting his followers in his full folk hero outfit. As cover, she went out in uniform patrolling the city. She threatened away Weavers from a part of town they're not supposed to build over, tearing down the beginnings of structure. She broke up a burgeoning fight between gangs in an alley. She could feel herself take a backseat, executing Samothes' will as it presses into her mind. Castille stopped short on an avenue, knowing that it was due for Reconfiguration, the divine presence whispered for her to stop as two buildings slide together. 

She barely looked up in time to see the mask, cape, and blonde hair she came to find. The background reverie of being a Pala-din snapped away from her mind as she watched him ride a Reconfiguring building, silhouetted like the savior his followers proclaim.

 _Grandstanding idiot_ , she thought, a smile forming as she sprinted around the new jumble of buildings. _At least he'll be in a good mood_.

She knew that he would be fine, but the citizens, who were peeking out windows and searching for landmarks to orient their morning commutes, might be more attention than he needed. By the time she routed herself around homes, schools, and one newly inconvenient stable he was already done. He had his hand on the shoulder of a shaken follower, fixing them with a burning, certain gaze. He knelt, whispered a few words of reassurance, and pushed them off to the night. He took care to turn them away from the unconscious bodies of the Fontmen who tried to threaten them.

He turned towards her and drew back up to full height. She raised an eyebrow in return, stone shifting across her face.

"Is the showboating really necessary, every time?"

"They have to believe in me. I need a legend to protect my followers."

She tilted her head to the side, suspicious of his motives.  
"Did you see me coming?" She squinted at him. "Are you being dramatic just for me?"

He took a beat before answering, unmoving beneath the mask and cape.

"You're much harder to spot without the hat"

**The Tea witches**

"I don't like giving them access to it," Maelgwyn said, mask, gauntlet, and cape stowed in favor of an outfit that didn't scream "Son of Samothes, might murder you."

He and Castille stood outside the Tea Witches' home, holding a satchel that glowed gently and yet did not feel reassuring. She had already won the argument, since he was here, but she reminded him why it was a good idea.

"We need to know more. You're not even certain, and that's kind of your whole deal! They can help.” She tried to sound confident about it. “They'll be cool."

"They can't be allowed to keep it."

"We stole it first, and you already paid them. They don't get the crystal."

He stayed silent, in the oddly permanent sulk he kept for a god of confidence. After some time waiting, a servant came out to greet them. He was visibly relieved they weren't who he was expecting.

"Ah! My apologies for keeping you waiting. We've had an... unsavory acquaintance reappear and I have had to try very hard to ignore him. Please, this way."

The witch was already waiting for them, with a much larger kettle than Castille had ever seen them use. Where the usual teapots were delicate, somewhat ornamental, this teapot looked like it could sail the flaming sea around Marielda. It was a dull steel kettle, with no reflections on its surface.

She laid herbs in front of the kettle, prepping a series of smaller burners, and asked them to sit.

"I was not entirely clear on the nature of the object, so I prepared several options before we decide how to proceed." She smiled and inclined her head. "Thanks to your gift, we have plenty of plants to work with."

Castille thought back to his payment. Maelgwyn had stood impassive in the courtyard as the tea witches had described their dream garden. Slowly around them, plants burst from the ground, or simply existed where she would have sworn they hadn't a moment before. "It has to do with time," he had told her. Completely useless.

Maelgwyn removed the crystal carefully, placing it in front of the witch.

"I have… something to do. I don’t know if it will work, or if it’s the right thing to do, but I have to do something.” He shifts, uncomfortable with telling everything. “This crystal held me, and is bound to my fate. Others have used it for visions, and I believe it can provide guidance."

She waited to be sure he was done, nodded sagely, and selected a specific tea from the table. She put the leaves, and the crystal, in the large pot and set it to boil. A short steep later, she hefted the iron pot with ease, and poured it into a delicate teacup in front of him. 

“What you’re requesting is… difficult.” She fixed him with a pitying look. “Not for us, of course, but for you. The future can be traumatizing, particularly the future of gods. Combined with your history in this crystal, I feel I must ask if you’re sure.”

Maelgwyn tipped back the cup of tea and prepared for his future.

**Three Futures**

The crystal burst into his vision as the real world melted away. In its spinning facets, he saw his own face reflected. Weathered by time, different in appearance save the eyes, the faces moved around him. He waited to see what they would show him.

The visions were worse than he imagined. The decision to kill Samothes with the Blade in the Dark would be the moment around which his whole life bent. It meant that to understand how his life changed, he would have to see how it ended.

Three visions assaulted him with the moment of his death.

He saw his village from his favorite hilltop. He felt love towards his small town, towards what protection he had offered them. The final party was growing to a full frenzy, his people dancing in the street. They drank the last cider pulled from an apple orchard already swallowed by the darkness. He felt content with his time spent, but as the oncoming storm arrived, doubt tickled his mind. Could he have done something? 

He stood shoulder to shoulder with Castille, a broad man who had joined him through the ages. They both crackled with the arcane power they had gathered across millennia as they protected the last remaining shore in Hieron. He felt his strength burning down, a candle melting the last of its wick. The two men joined hands, Maelgwyn’s one marble hand, and Castille’s warm flesh. All the power they had squeezed from this world, and they could only manage more time. 

Finally, he felt a dagger in his back. He was bitter, angry at working so hard, giving his life and identity away, only to be hated. They had all pushed him into it, told him it was the only solution, but half of them had already given up! As the crystal came into view of this last vision, he felt the pull of a power he believed lost. Hope burned in his heart, to change this life burdened by the greatest debt he could ever hold. 

The crystal darkened, then faded from his view altogether. He opened his eyes, returning to the tea house to see Castille’s face plastered with concern. He moved slowly, feeling drained.

“You’re back!” Relief showed through. “Did you… see anything to help us? What did the vision say?”

He shook his head, hair stuck by sweat on his forehead. “It was disorienting. I only saw flashes of the end of many lives, not even their choices.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll have to sit with them a while. The last one felt the most bitter, but… almost the most hopeful towards the end. Maybe it means something.”

Castille thanked the tea witch. “Is there anything else we should expect?”

She thought for a moment, and looked at the tired Maelgwyn. “There may be echoes in the world, unusual circumstances that should guide you. Be on the lookout for that which feels… extraordinary."

**The Extraordinary**

They were waiting, finely dressed and full of nervous energy, in an empty train car. The train had turned this journey from a strange prank to stark reality. The invitation had activated it and sent them on their way. In gilt script, the letter offered a dinner for the two of them at Samothes’ own table. Formalwear was requested.

Maelgwyn broke the silence first. "I'm glad you chose to dress up, Castille.” He reconsidered. “I hope you’re not uncomfortable being visible as a pala-din."

She shrugged. "The invitation said they knew about me and not to worry, so, why not go all out? Besides, Aubrey had just finished a new invention of pala-din paint, and she couldn't wait to show it off." She waved her arms in the light of the train, and the dark seams of onyx glittered with flecks of gold. New types of skin required new types of makeup, after all. 

They came out of the train at a small station, carved out below a far greater entrance. "For smaller affairs," Maelgwyn assured her, as they faced the (still enormous) doors in front of them. An elderly Cobbin came running out to greet them, pulling a tuxedo vest over one arm and buttoning it together under a small bowtie. He straightened up, slightly out of breath, and addressed them.

"Welcome, honored guests, to the uh, Hall of The Lord of Marielda, Ingenuity Alive, King of… " He trailed off as he got a closer look at the two guests, stifling a gasp. "Maelgwyn? He tells me we have two guests, tonight, small dinner, no big deal that there’s barely any time to prepare, and he doesn't even tell me it's his son?"

Maelgwyn suppressed a smile forming on his lips. "Hello Primo, it's good to see you too. I see he hasn't improved his event planning."

"You ain't kidding, kid. Well, son or not, I have to send you in." He looked at Castille. "And what's your name?" A sheepish smile, "I gotta announce our guests, wouldn't be proper otherwise.” He threw his hands up. “Gotta have something proper about this dinner."

"Charter Castille, please. It's nice to meet you Primo.”

“Nice to meet you too, young lady. Now would you two please move up to the door so I can announce you in?” He gestured to the double doors in front of them, and scurried to a notch in the wall with an embedded device.

Maelgwyn looked to Castille, and offered his arm. She took it, and together they heard Primo announce them as they entered the doorway.

“Presenting Maelgwyn, Confidence Alive and son of our Lord Samothes, and his date for tonight, the honorable Pala-din Charter Castille.”

They walked through the door, and Castille laughed, a full laugh that filled the empty room. The only furnishing was an enormous table with three place settings. Their seats were at least placed two to one across the short side, not at either end of the huge dinner table. A stairwell leading up to the back of the room at least suggested something might happen. Maelgwyn and Castille took their seats, and Maelgwyn looked expectantly at the top of the stairs. He leaned over to whisper to Castille, “He likes the drama of a good entrance.”

He certainly made the entrance dramatic. The door at the top of the staircase swung wide as Samothes, King of the Order of Eternal Princes (and many other things besides), more or less sashayed his way down the stairs. His hair streamed down to his shoulders, neatly touching the collar of his shirt, which was unbuttoned practically to the bottom. His warmth and presence made the room feel like a cozy evening spent in front of the fire. As he sat down, Castille let out a gasp. Food had appeared on the table as Samothes made his entrance.

Enjoying her surprise, Samothes spoke. “Primo loves a good distraction for his magic tricks. An indulgence on both our sides. Please, eat, as welcome guests in my home. It has been too long,” with a glance at Maelgwyn, “since I have eaten with family.”

Castille shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “Oh, um, I don’t really eat, actually. It’s fine! It’s a very lovely meal, I’m sure.”

He arched an eyebrow and put his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “Please, indulge me and try something from the blue bowls. I think it might work better than you expect.”

Not wanting to offend god, she reached for a roll in one of the blue bowls. To her surprise, she felt its warmth, the surface of the crust, as if she had skin and not marble. When she bit into it, the bread was soft, delicious, everything she could remember of food before becoming a pala-din. She tore through half the basket of bread before noticing Samothes. His smile was reserved, but the pride at his work shone through.

“It’s delicious. Thank you.” She spoke with a mouth full of bread, unwilling to stop eating.

An emotion she couldn’t quite read passed his face. “I thought you might like it. I discovered this trick for… another pala-din who served me.” He grew serious. “To business. You might be surprised to hear this, but I know what your father has asked you to do.”

Maelgwyn stiffened, and Castille saw him ready to act, tense.

Samothes put his hands up again. “Peace, please. I am not here to fight. I am here to convince you it’s a fools’ errand. You will not find any hope at the end of it, and neither will he.”

Maelgwyn relaxed slightly, but spoke through gritted teeth. “Then what is your solution? Is there a better way than the hope we have?”

Samothes’ eyes darkened. A current of anger raised the temperature of the room. “There is no hope down this path. My terms are simple. Give me the blade. You can join me, and work on solutions as you suggest, or you can join your father and pursue whatever esoteric knowledge he has found.” He shrugged. “I am fine with either. But your current course is brash, and wasteful.” He sat back with a finality that ended that line of conversation.

“To happier things, perhaps. I hear word that you’ve returned to wearing the mask and crown as some sort of… vigilante. Are you pushing to be Marielda’s folk hero again?”

Castille leaned into a bowl of soup, watching Maelgwyn redden slightly out of the corner of her eye. As long as they’re all together, why not enjoy the family meal?

**Meet-brute**

They crossed alleys and parks on their way back from the train, buzzing with conversation about the strange dinner.

“Something was off about him.” Maelgwyn was unusually manic. “He’s never that direct. And a dinner for two, just to talk? It doesn’t make any sense, except the entrance.”

“So he… always has his shirt like that? I thought that was like, a weird religious quirk that he was always half dressed. Maybe, I dunno, a devotion thing?”

Maelgwyn continued, undeterred by her attempts to talk about Samothes’ cleavage.

“And he kept calling Samot ‘your father,’ not by his name, not a nickname even. Sure, they’re at war, but it just felt -”

And that was the last word Maelgwyn, Confidence Alive, got out before he was decked across the mouth by an enormous, marble fist.

**Ouch!**

That hurt, thought Maelgwyn, as he crashed into a tree in the park. Hasn’t hurt that much to be hit in a while. Pala-din? He stood up to look who had hit him, dusting himself off. A tall man with silver hair was blocking the road. He held his arms wide, one fitted with a stone gauntlet, and raised his voice.

“Listen, kid," said the challenger, "I'm gonna make this easy. Give me the knife, and I’ll be on my way.” Maelgwyn could see him drop into a fighting stance. “Trust me, It’ll be easier this way.”

Maelgwyn rolled his shoulders and squared up against him.

“Alright, kid, but I warned you,” said the stranger, raising his stone gauntlet.

And then Castille was between them, shouting “Maelgwyn, cover your eyes!” She slammed one stone hand onto the glittering black veins of her other arm. The makeup wasn’t just for show - it had been made by Aubrey after all. The gold flakes across Castille instantly ignited, creating a massive flash of light that blinded the attacker as Maelgwyn shielded his own eyes and rushed him. When the light faded, Maelgwyn had crossed the distance and closed his hands around the other man’s throat. He shoved him to the ground, and as Castille faded to a gentle glow, they got a good look at his face. 

It was lined, and his hair was grey, but the many years had been kind. Castille and Maelgwyn were stunned enough that they let off his windpipe enough for him to speak.

“For the love of my family, Castille,” said Maelgwyn, trying to strike a winning smile between coughs, “normally when you flash me it’s a bit more fun.”

**How about... Second Dinner?**

Maelgwyn and Castille sat across from the older Maelgwyn at a late night cafe. A plate of uneaten pastries sat between them, dividing lines in an uneasy truce. Castille distracted herself trying to find a good nickname to distinguish the two. Old Maelgwyn was too easy. Maybe some history could help?

"So… how long does it take for a god to go grey?" She looked back and forth between them, "I thought you had a whole immortality thing."

The older Maelgwyn laughed. “It takes a long, long time, Castille. We lived a good time, in my life. It’s good to see you again.” He relaxed. “Look, you found me, we didn’t kill each other, and I already lived through what you’re thinking about doing. Let me at least convince you it’s a bad idea.”

“What happened to you?” Castille leaned closer. “Did you do it? Did it… work?”

He grimaced. “Not even close on either count, it turns out. But I think it’ll be… illustrative.”

**Ancient History**

By now you have the same plan we did. The Six would go in with me, we’d dig up Samothes’ location, and I’d go down. I’d kill him, with that awful knife, and then maybe I’d birth something that would save us all. It was a desperate plan. We were all desperate to find something, and we all grew apart and scared in turn.

I never got to find out if it would work. You and I got to his forge, Castille, and he didn’t even look up as I walked up to kill him. Then your big friend, Sige, came flying out of nowhere. Rest of my whole life, not sure if I ever met a mortal man tougher than him. He was valiant, maybe even brilliant, but he wasn’t a god. I defeated him, intending to let him live. 

Then, when I turned the knife on Samothes, Sige was already there to take the hit. I drove that knife deep into him. He tore it from my hands and leapt off the forge into the volcano below with it stuck in his belly.

I believe it may still be the most heroic thing I’ve ever seen.

Well, with all of us stood stunned into silence, Samothes had the gall to get up and hand me the sword he had been working on. He looked me dead in the eyes and said if I still had to kill him, it might be the right way to do it. He was calm, regal as ever, but at that moment I realized it: we were all desperate to save Samol, we had no idea how to do it, and we might as well all just live instead of killing each other in the hope of fixing it. I dropped my father’s sword on the ground, took your hand, Castille, and we ran as far as we could. 

I stopped to find Samol before we headed out. He deserved to know I thought he was right. All these years, all the fighting and anger between my fathers, he begged us all to just enjoy the time we had. Get comfortable, throw a goddamn party! Anything. So I did. You, me, whoever agreed to come with us, we all got out of Marielda on an earthen bridge my grandfather made just for us.

Our little town grew as they heard it was the last place in Hieron that had any joy. Samot never forgave me for giving up, but he couldn’t bring himself to condemn a place dedicated to the good life. We prospered, at least as much as one can prosper during the slow end of the world. I even convinced the god of death to grant us a special dispensation - if we grew apples and sacrificed them to him each harvest, my people could choose when to die.

I never really saw my family again. But I have no regrets. My fathers were alive, even if they were afraid. We were desperate fools. They might call me a coward, their son whose confidence turned to ash. But when I looked into my father’s eyes as he handed me a sword, I knew for the rest of my life that path was a regret waiting to be born.

You had passed on long before it happened, Castille, but on that final day I warmed myself with memories of the final party we threw for you. I saw the end coming, and then that goddamned crystal appeared and called me here. You wanted advice? That’s it: get the hell out and enjoy what you have. My fathers never found out how to save our world, or our family, and at least I had a good time.

**Back in the Real World**

“That’s… grim” said Castille, recognizing the intensity of her Maelgwyn in the older man’s conviction. “And you… never talked about it? You ran off from them?”

“Patricide isn’t really something you come back from, even just an attempt.” He looked away. “I didn’t have anything to offer in its place. No confidence to offset their despair. We just had to enjoy the lives we already had.”

Maelgwyn spoke, his long silence broken as he stood up. “What will you do now? If we go ahead with the plan, will you try to stop us?”

“Apparently, I’m not much use in a fight anymore. I can feel myself fading - I don’t think that magic you pulled was powerful enough to keep me here forever.” He shrugged. “If you go through with it, I guess I’m going to try and tell Samothes to fight back. Failing that,” as he flashed a smile at Castille, “Would you like to get some drinks and catch up?”

Castille looked at the younger Maelgwyn and gave him a knowing smirk. “I told you it wasn’t that unusual for an older man to ask me for drinks.”

He relaxed, just enough to mumble out, “I don’t think it counts if it’s technically me.”

“Look, this is a lot to take in at once. Can we have some time? How about we meet back up?” She appealed to nostalgia, knowing neither could resist. “Sunday, the usual place?”

**Home again, Home again**

They walked in silence for some time, Castille hoping to give some space before trying to convince him to change course. It was Maelgwyn who spoke first, taking Castille’s hand in his as he picked up speed.

“The story he just told us… I saw the ending. Standing on a hill, thinking of you, he died content but afraid.” Determination and fear mixed on his face as he looked at her. “I saw two other visions of my death, and one of them was obsessed with power. We have to get the knife before he does.”

Castille thought of the older man, and the half-hearted attack he had made to get the knife from them. If he had really been out for blood, would they have survived?

They ran to the warehouses district where Maelgwyn kept the knife heavily protected. Castille and Maelgwyn split up a few streets before the warehouse, hoping to catch any intruders in a flank. 

Then she heard the explosion.

A blue fireball rose from two streets over, clearly at their safehouse. She felt the pull off the Pala-din in her head, knowing that they were going to swarm the site in moments.

As she pulled around the corner, she saw the charred remains of the safehouse door on the other side of the street. She snuck up to the door, trying to find a quiet way into the building. Another loud crack came from inside as the severed arm of a Pala-din sailed past her. She crept inside.

Maelgwyn had beaten her inside, and was trying to get the newcomer to calm down. He stood across the room from a figure dismantling another Pala-din with ease.

He cast the same silhouette as her Maelgwyn, mask and crown included. His mask, however, was a face cast in mourning. It was opalescent and flared colors in the soft glow of the seaside. He had a hammer at his waist, and his clothes looked somewhere between ceremonial robes and chainmail. He put out a hand, and she noticed it was the hand of a Pala-din, fused at the wrist to his arm.

“You're a true vision of better times, Maelgwyn.” His voice was hard, a threat. “I don’t want to hurt you. I am not your enemy.” The air crackled around him. “But I need that knife.”

**A Brief History of Power**

By now you have the same plan we did. It was the best bet we had, and I took it. A knife with cruelty in its blade and the possibility of saving our world. The only price was my father’s life. I laid Sige low, pushed past whatever doubts the rest of the Six had, and put a knife in Samothes’ heart. When I looked at him, deep in his grave, my heart dropped in fear. I was consumed with the need for a partner, someone who would join me in a quest to become greater than the nothing that threatened us. My Castille, my heart, my rock, my other half, was elevated to godhood by that need. We turned ourselves to becoming the greatest mages alive.

We pulled power from every source we could find. First we broke the chains of Samothes’ tower and turned them to our own ends. I kept Samothes’ hammer, a reminder of our first sacrifice. After millenia of work, we erected a barrier that even Samot’s stars could not match. For thousands upon thousands of years, we spent our powers in pursuit of safety for Hieron and its people. In honor of his service, I traded my hand for Castille to regain his body. Samot passed before his time, a plot by some cruel mages who felt I had overtaken them. Castille forged me this mask, and I wear it with the hammer in memory of what we lost.

At the end, it was not enough. We gave ground slowly, but we always gave it. In the end, Castille and I stood side by side, preserving this city until the fire of our lives burnt away. In that last moment, I was forced to remember the crystal prison that bound me. I was brought here without him, but I will reclaim our power and stop the end once and for all.

**That’s Some Heavy Shit**

Maelgwyn the Mage pulled the hammer from his side and rang it against the ground. Instantly, the stone floor came to life, wrapping itself around Maelgwyn to restrain him.

“I’m sorry to raise a hand against you, even different as you are. That knife has power, and I don’t want it wasted killing Samothes when I’m around to use it better.” He turned to the wall, scanning for whatever vault the knife might be stored inside. 

“Wait!” Maelgwyn pleaded. “We can work this out together! You’re not the only other Maelgwyn we’ve seen!”

The Mage turned from his search, hesitant. “There are others?” He shook his head. "It does not matter. I will do what I have always done."

Castille took the opportunity to charge him. She slammed shoulder first into the masked figure and sent him off balance into the wall. He recovered instantly, spinning on one foot like a dancer. “A good shot, but unfortunately I was taught by one of your kinsmen how to fight you.” His hands crackled with lightning, and with a loud snap Castille was launched from her feet towards the other end of the room.

The Mage advanced on her as she lay dazed against the wall, almost monologuing as he approached. “It is a shame, you are a well made Pala-din, and you have fought brilliantly. But I fought with the best, something you automatons cannot match.” He lifted her from the ground, his hands heating with magical fire. “I will miss him dearly. Perhaps I will build a monument to him from this city’s-”

He did not have a chance to finish the thought. Maelgwyn had freed an arm from the stone writhing around him and hurled a knife into the Mage’s shoulder. The injured man dropped Castille with a resounding thud, and turned his attention to Maelgwyn. 

“I have been too kind to you.” He clenched his fists. “No longer.” The stone around Maelgwyn tightened, crushing him underneath. 

Castille, coming to her senses, charged the mage again. Putting a fist through his mask, she screamed. “CUT THE SHIT, YOU POMPOUS DICK!”

He was thrown to the ground, stunned by the force of her attack. He raised a hand, and the stone around Maelgwyn receded. “You… you are Castille?” She could see him appraise her through the mask. “I should have known. You even fight like he did.”

She bent down to him. “Charter Castille, former mage, current backup for overconfident gods. Are you ready to talk now? We have a plan.”

He laughed, and all the tension went out of his body. “Your voice is a welcome relief.” He shook his head. “A plan? We all had plans. Did it work any better for the others you have found?”

Maelgwyn, who brushed pieces of stone off quietly, announced himself and continued her trail of thought. “It’s true, even if we haven’t worked it all out yet. I think we’ve seen a better path, something all of us, on our own, avoided.” He took a step closer, making the hard sell, “I saw your death. I felt what you felt. The fear, the regret, the knowledge that bare power wasn’t enough. We need your help to change that.”

The Mage brought his hands up slowly, and removed the mask. He looked barely a few years older than her Maelgwyn, but his face was lined with worry and scars. He looked at the other Maelgwyn, his past, and he nearly broke. “Was everything we did together for nothing? The suffering, the thousands of years of work?”

Castille leaned down to him, and put a hand on the shoulder of the grieving Mage. “You saved people. You brought them protection. What more could you do with what you knew?”

He sighed. “Just as my Castille would have. A display of strength, and a display of compassion. What’s our plan?”

**The Day of High Sun**

Castille crossed town to the building Maelgwyn had asked to meet at. She was, as before any job, prepared for the worst and nervous that it might come to pass. The second story apartment was in the middle of a florist’s street, sweet-smelling and brightly colored as she climbed the outer stairs. She knocked, and a flustered Maelgwyn called “Just a minute!” from the other side. After a brief moment, Maelgwyn popped the door open, half dressed and behind on time.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and gestured to his outfit, “I’m running a little late.”

“I can wait,” said Castille, who walked past him and sat on the bed expectantly.

He took a moment, shook his head and shut the door. “Fine, fine. I thought we were supposed to keep it professional on a job?”

She smiled and pointed to her completed outfit. “I think one of us is unprofessional right now, annnnd I don’t think it’s me.”

He shrugged, and went back to buttoning up his shirt. “Do you think they’ll hold up their part of the plan?”

“At this point we’re pretty much stuck on it, right? We’re still the ones with the knife” she glanced at the sheath on his belt, “so at least no one can go through with the attack.”

“It’s a good point, still…” he trailed off, and gave up on his outfit for the moment. He crossed to Castille and sat next to her. “Castille, I wanted to thank you. We’ve seen what my other selves have been through, what happens when I just blindly follow through on the plan. You suggested we use the crystal.” He took her hands in his, serious. “They spent a lifetime of certainty in what they did, only for it to come apart on them at the end.”

She held his gaze, shifting to face him on the couch. “We’re in this together. We make a good team, and besides, I wouldn’t want to go in on a job with bad information, you know?”

“It’s more than that Castille.” He shook his head. “I know you heard it too. My other selves, their stories contain you, whether to hold them up or as their whole reason to continue.” He moved a hand to her face, running a thumb along her cheek. “I’m not worried about them betraying us because they’re missing their greater half.”

“I’ll always be your champion,” she said, pulling him close, “but I don’t mind being your cause too.”

The rest of The Six were getting antsy by the time they arrived at the train station.

**Showtime**

Getting in had been surprisingly easy, as their train had been calm and quiet on its way to the volcano. Despite being shuffled into separate rooms, none of them had been approached by Samothes yet, and their plan was going alright.

The plan for the banquet, however, was going terribly. Samothes had yet to show himself, and none of his servants seemed sure of what to do until he appeared. Castille was starting to sweat by the time they sent the Hitchcock twins to perform a choreographed sword fight to stall for time. Primo, who looked as nervous as Castille felt, led them to the center of the banquet hall with visible relief.

“Now, uh, we have the Duelist Ethan and the Dancer Edmund, to, uh, provide us with a display of the finest choreography their school has to uh, offer. Please join me in a round of applause for these fine officers of our lord’s… illustrious army.”

The applause was measured, and confused, especially since half the crowd had no idea why Samothes might have been working during his own damn party. Maelgwyn had chosen to sit at Samot’s table, but no one else had really appeared and it was straining her belief in the Mage. She had expected some difficulty on the older Maelgwyn’s part, but they’d still have to stall.

Then, as if in answer to her fears, he appeared. Samothes came in through the front door, flanked by two Pala-din. He wore a shining robe, light pants for the heat, and was crowned with a small circlet of gold. He walked to his nearly empty table, climbed to the throne at the center, and awaited his subjects.

Maelgwyn and Castille dutifully waited in line, keeping up the appearance of a regular pair of subjects. When they reached him, Samothes’ face lit with anticipation. 

“Have you two considered my offer?”

Maelgwyn looked at Castille, who nodded. “Actually, we have a counter-offer.” Distaste flickered across Samothes’ face. “We will give up the knife, but only if we destroy it, together.”

Samothes gripped his throne tighter, like he was going to crush it in his hands. “You would make demands of me?” Leaning forward, angry. “I have seen more than you would ever believe, survived worse. I am offering you a way out of this terrible idea, not a position to bargain from.”

Maelgwyn was taken aback, unsure how to deal with the heated outburst from his father. The temperature in the room rose as several guests stared at the throne-side exchange.

“We’re not trying to bargain, we’re…” Maelgwyn tried to recover, unsure in the face of anger, “We’re trying to get on the same side! No deception, just an end to the whole affair.”

Samothes rose, slamming a hand on the throne and producing a deafening sound in the banquet hall. “You will not teach me my own history!” Almost sneering. “You cannot scold me as if you have more knowledge about this than ME!”

Castille figured it out just as the door to the private rooms flew open. Samothes, dressed as if he just came from the forge (he had), strode into the banquet hall. Guests generally raised a ruckus, maybe even a whole commotion, as the god locked eyes with his doppelganger. 

“Maelgwyn!” Castille started to rise, “It’s the last vision!”

She was too late to stop Maelgwyn’s other self, Samothes.

**A Brief History of Patricide**

By now, you’ve heard my story. I succeeded, killed Samothes, and at the crucial moment I failed him. I regretted my choice to the point where it twisted my identity, sealing my cruel fate as my father’s replacement. I worked tirelessly to find a solution that he had missed, pressed ingenuity into my own service, and was killed for trying to save the world.

I was pushed by all directions into the worst decision of my life. Yet standing in front of him, I could feel only anger. He gave into despair, enabled me to believe I could save the world at the cost of his life. Samot pushed me forward, claiming that we needed to bring something new into the world. He could not imagine any other way to make me feel something so powerful. Blinded by desperation, fear, or a belief in the inevitable, they failed me. I already lost my own life, my own Samothes, my own Castille. I would not mourn the loss of another’s.

**[Spiderman Pointing Meme]**

Castille moved too slowly to stop him. Samothes grabbed the knife from Maelgwyn’s belt and shoved him to the ground. Primo caught Sige’s eye, gesticulating wildly towards the brewing storm between one god and his lookalike. None of them moved fast enough. He drew the Blade in the Dark, holding it out as he charged the Samothes standing at the side of the room. Confused, but seeing that Maelgwyn was there, that the plan might still be completed, the true Samothes put down his arms and awaited what might come.

What came was the sound of a thunderclap and a flash of light to match. The room instantly dropped pressure, silenced by the application of incredible power. When the spots fled their eyes, the room looked on in stunned silence at Samot, protecting Samothes from harm. On the other side stood Maelgwyn the Mage, stripped of mask and crown, holding the knife he had taken from Maelothes. 

That false Samothes, outnumbered by his other selves, scrambled to his feet and sprinted out the main door. The volcano, which still listened to his call, arranged doorways towards the trains. 

Castille hauled Maelgwyn to his feet, and together they took off for the door. The Mage looked to Samot and Samothes, unsure if he could leave them alone. 

Samot assured him, “You’ve convinced me. Now go convince him. I have some things to discuss with Samothes.”

As the Mage took off, Samothes looked to the husband he was currently at war with for answers. He had been prepared for death, and now… He stayed in Samot’s protection a moment longer. “If there are two Maelgwyns, and a second of me… how have we been spared a clone of you?”

Maelgwyn and Castille emerged into the sunset, chasing the last of Maelgwyn’s other selves. He had reached the end of the platform, looking for his chance of escape. Castille approached slowly, calling out to him.

“We don’t need to do this! Whatever you’ve suffered, it hasn’t happened yet!” She glanced at Maelgwyn for backup.

He followed her lead. “We have a plan, all of us! Haven’t you noticed?” He gestured back towards the ballroom. “Your story, the other two I’ve met, they have one thing in common.” He looked at Castille, and decided not to mention the second. “We split up! Whether Samothes dies or not, our family is broken. We pursue different threads, live our lives a thousand miles apart, and then we fail.”

Maelothes, at the edge of the station, had no other choice. “Do you think we’re enough to convince them? What are you suggesting?”  
A voice cut the air behind him, a bassy rumble that they felt in their chests more than heard. The great dragon Hieron, with the elder Samothes on his shoulder, popped his head over the side of the volcano to address him. “I think what my newly-optimistic grandson is suggesting, is that it is high time for a real family sit down. Maybe this time my stubborn sons can be convinced to work out their differences.”

**Epilogue**

Maelgwyn and Castille met at the same cafe, every Sunday. Sometimes, one of the other Maelgwyns would join them, but today was a rare moment alone. Maelgwyn brought with him a gift from the others: a thermos of coffee that Castille could enjoy. It seemed that one of the constants of his other lives was to discover how to make food for her. She was liable to get spoiled, having four people take care of her all the time.

She drank the coffee slowly, savoring the flavor, before deciding to push the subject. “They’re not doing great, are they? Every time I see them, they’re more afraid of saying goodbye.”

Maelgwyn shook his head. “Our power could only draw them so far. Now that they’ve served as guides, the magic binding them is slipping away.” He looked out to the street. “At least we’ve given them a little hope. They brought it here too. It was more than I thought I could ask for.”

Castille reached a hand out to his, watching the street with him. “We still don’t really have a plan, do we? We got as far as bringing your family back together, but we just eliminated a bad option.” A long sip of coffee. “Do you think Samolgwyn had the right idea?”

He grimaced. “I still hate your names for them. No, even Sam-, even he only had it partly right. If we wanted to live our lives to the fullest,” He squeezed her hand, “we should all do it together.”

She made plans in her head to get dinner with the other Maelgwyns. At the very least, they got a little more animated around her, telling stories of the Castilles from their lives. Whatever came, she would remember them.


End file.
